


Love was made for me and you

by RossKL



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dancing, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Mention of LGBT+ Hate, Mutual Pining, Post-Avengers (2012), Tony Stark Has A Heart, Undercover as a Couple, Unresolved Sexual Tension, mention of PTSD, steve rogers is a sweetheart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24459196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RossKL/pseuds/RossKL
Summary: “Since when does Steve Rogers drink?” Tony teases. He watches Steve getting closer, stopping only when his body is pressed up to Tony’s side.“It’s iced tea, Tony.” Steve smiles. His hand wanders down Tony’s spine. “You know I don’t drink on the job,” he finishes, hand resting on Tony’s hip.Holy shit.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 50
Kudos: 365
Collections: Captain America/Iron Man Reverse Bang 2020





	Love was made for me and you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ha_kko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ha_kko/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Love was made for me and you [Art]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24459592) by [ha_kko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ha_kko/pseuds/ha_kko). 



> Written for the Cap-IM Reverse Big Bang. It’s inspired by the [art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24459592) of the wonderful [Ha_kko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ha_kko/pseuds/ha_kko). Please go to her page to appreciate her amazing work! It was such a pleasure working with you. <3
> 
> A thousand thank yous to my beta [cullenlovesmen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cullenlovesmen/pseuds/cullenlovesmen), who helped me so much in such short notice, and cheered me throughout the whole fic. I couldn’t have done it without you. <3 
> 
> Thank you to Jen and Kait for cheering on me, too!
> 
> Technical note: I needed a name for the villain, and since I suck at coming up with them, I just borrowed it from a 616 villain. Despite the name though, he is an original character.

_This is a bad idea._

Tony is sure this is not going to end well, and he can’t even say why. He can’t label the sensation, but the itch is there and he can’t quite scratch it, no matter how hard he tries.

Life has taught him that a lot of the things he does are going to backfire spectacularly, and this is definitely one of those.

He’s riding with Steve in a white limo, cracking jokes and trying not to think too much about where they’re going. He also tries not to stare at Steve’s suspenders, visible underneath his jacket.

_Good god._

“No,” Steve says again when Tony offers him a drink. “I don’t drink on the job, Tony.”

The job, right. That’s what this is all about. Tony knows.

He smiles and fixes himself a Martini dry. “You’re no fun.”

He tips the cocktail at Steve as a cheer, then takes a sip.

The bitter taste on his tongue warms him. Tony relaxes just a fraction; that’s more like it. That’s not too different from his scenes: he takes a drink for good luck, then goes on stages and charms everyone.

This is another make-pretend. This is just— two Avengers, trying to throw a bad guy in jail. That’s all this is.

“How are you so calm?” he blurts out. As always, his brain and his mouth work together to make him die of embarrassment. Tony curses himself silently and takes another sip, trying to appear put together, despite the question.

Steve eyes him quizzically. “It’s just a mission like every other,” he replies.

Tony _knows_ that, no point in repeating yourself, Steve.

It’s just. He’s never had to go somewhere undercover as Captain America’s partner. As in, _gay partner_.

He takes another sip. “I know. I just figured that, between the two of us, you would be the one to freak out or something.” He tries to sound nonchalant, but if he knows Steve a little – and he does – he knows he’s probably not buying it.

“Are _you_ freaking out?”

_Maybe_. “No.” He scoffs and takes another sip.

Tony isn’t averse to the plan, far from it. He strongly believes it’s a good idea.

The guy they’re trying to flush out – Marcus Immortus – is a trafficker of prostitutes. SHIELD’s intel has it as a certain fact, so Nick Fury assigned the mission to the Avengers while letting Coulson coordinate with the head of police. It’s not aliens-invade-New-York big, but it’s something that’s resulting in dead bodies all over the city; something has to be done, fast.

Immortus is a high-profile magnate with a fierce hate for the LGBT+ community. If his public declarations of hatred wouldn’t suffice, the fact that prostitutes that knowingly work for him end up dead – along with their queer clients – speaks volumes.

Steve and Tony’s job is to get him as worked up as possible in a semi-public environment where he can’t do anything about, in order to make him commit a mistake and catch him red-handed.

They’re both wearing the latest model of Stark’s security cameras, equipped with microphones. They’re miniaturized and embedded in the buttons of their suits, untraceable and undetectable. Coulson will get every second of their evening, along with the Avengers: Clint, Natasha, Coulson and a handful of police officers are on stand-by in a couple of pubs around the block, ready to intervene should things go – hopefully – south.

Immortus is disgusting, and Tony is absolutely ready to shove him in a cell and throw away the key.

It’s just— There are just a couple of hiccups. One tiny hiccup, really.

It’s Captain America. It’s _Steve Rogers_ , for fuck’s sake. Had it been anyone else, Tony wouldn’t have blinked once.

But make-pretend with Steve of all people is legitimately going to drive him insane. There have been a few obsessions in Tony’s life, and almost all of them had to do with science. He never really thought too much about people: he could’ve had anyone he wanted anyway.

But Steve…

He’s wanted Steve Rogers ever since their very first encounter in Berlin. He just wanted to sleep with him at first— he’s daydreamed about it an embarrassing number of times, especially when they used to argue all the time. And the arguing… Well, the arguing led them into each other’s personal space _a lot_ , and Tony was always this close to just slamming Steve against the nearest wall and kissing the living daylight out of him.

In retrospect, that whole period was quite interesting.

But then, screaming turned to sarcastic remarks, and remarks led to teasing, and before Tony knew, they became friends. They became close friends. The teasing acquired a playful note, and Tony’s sexual desire paved the way to an accelerated heartbeat around Steve, and to the stupid impulse to grab Steve’s hand, or to fall asleep on his chest and wake up next to him.

Tonight, Tony is going to be able to hold his hand, to kiss him. He’s _encouraged_ to do all that.

Tony fears he won’t be able to stop.

“You know, there were gay people in the forties, Tony.” Steve’s laughing behind the words.

“As you keep reminding me, Rogers,” Tony mutters.

When Steve agreed to take part in this plan, Tony had been surprised. He thought it was going to be him and Clint, or him and Thor if he was lucky.

Instead, Steve _volunteered_. 

Sure, since they needed two high profile figures for the job, Steve being Captain America would definitely help and all, but still.

It’s going to be Captain America and Tony Stark, and Tony is definitely overthinking it and the night hasn’t even started.

“Hey, are you okay?” Steve sounds mildly concerned.

Tony blinks back to the limo and summons a smirk. “Sure I am, Cap.” _It’s not like I keep imagining kissing you or feeling you up._ “I think it’s going to be fun. Just picture Immortus’ face when he sees us kissing right in front of his salad.”

Steve laughs, head thrown back and all.

Tony smiles and resolutely ignores the little flip his stomach does at the sound. He’s quite proud of introducing Steve to memes and other wonders of the twenty-first century.

If Steve is going to laugh like that, Tony won’t even have to pretend to be in love with him.

***

“This party sucks.”

“It’s not a party, Tony.”

“I wish it was,” Tony huffs.

Moments after getting inside, Steve examined the room, taking in how many security guards and cameras there were, and informed the others via his Stark camera – undetected, of course.

Now they’re in the ballroom, after shaking hands with only a few people. It’s a blessing, considering the type of characters around them.

Unfortunately, blessings on that evening could be counted on the fingers of one hand. They made little to no progress with their plan yet, first because they haven’t been able to spot Immortus so far, and second because Tony is unsure when their act should begin, to be credible when they do meet the guy.

Tony figures they would have to practice a little beforehand, if they wanted to sell it half-convincingly. The thought of kissing Steve only when watched was nagging the back of Tony’s head. The thought of _kissing Steve on the mouth_ for the first time while being watched was… not how he imagined their first kiss would be like. Not that he ever imagined it.

Maybe they should have practiced in the limo.

Maybe they should have practiced at the Tower – right where they have sofas available, walls, beds, and most importantly, when the only one watching them is Jarvis.

Tony shoots back his drink, then chases a waiter for a few steps to swap his empty glass for a full one.

Two drinks aren’t going to cut it.

He sips his Martini Dry while he returns to Steve, noticing with a surprise that he, too, has a drink in his hand. Tony feels a fraction better. Maybe he isn’t the only one nervous.

“Since when does Steve Rogers drink?” Tony teases. He watches Steve getting closer and closer, stopping only when his body is pressed up to Tony’s right side.

Tony ignores his accelerated heartbeat and blames the sudden heat on his third drink.

Steve took the first step, actively sparing Tony from further worrying about the plan, but exposing him to a whole new category of overthinking.

“It’s iced tea, Tony.” Steve smiles. His free hand wanders down Tony’s spine. “You know I don’t drink on the job,” he finishes, hand resting on Tony’s hip. _Holy shit_.

Tony takes a sip of his drink, then clears his throat. “Of course you don’t. Soft drink— I should’ve known.” He turns towards Steve and smiles a little, hyper aware of how close they are. They need to be doing this and _more_ , Tony knows. He also knows he is going to vibrate right off his skin.

Maybe they won’t need to actually kiss, Tony ponders. Maybe lingering hands and closeness will be enough.

Tony really wants to kiss Steve, though.

Steve’s hand tightens on his side as his eyes find something in Tony’s and mirth leaves his expression. His eyes darken and his lips part, and it’d take a far stronger man than Tony to prevent his gaze from dropping to those lips.

Tony has never been strong; the name of his first weakness— Steve Rogers.

It only takes a moment before lips touch lips, and Tony’s whole world shifts balance.

It’s a light touch, just a brush of mouths, but it’s addictive, and Tony’s hooked.

They part after a couple of seconds, barely leaning away without taking a single step back. Tony instantly misses the heat against his mouth and the faint taste of lemon tea on Steve’s lips.

Their eyes meet again and Tony notices Steve’s blown pupils. He suppresses a shiver at the intensity of Steve’s gaze, because holy shit but that doesn’t help at all. It was— just a brush of lips, barely even considered a proper kiss, but here Tony is, unable to focus on anything other than the tingling sensation on his lips, Steve’s gaze boring into his soul, his cologne-masked scent and his hand still on Tony’s hip.

They barely kissed, and Tony already wants more. To the surprise of absolutely no one.

Tony is hyper-aware of Steve’s every movement, so he doesn’t miss the way Steve’s cheeks color and the way he takes a little breath, barely a moment before saying, “Sorry,” voice scarcely a whisper.

Tony shivers at that, his own free hand sliding up on Steve’s hip without Tony consciously moving it. Steve is wearing Col. Littleton suspenders over his shirt, the jacket of the suit handed over at the reception along with his coat, and Tony has to struggle not to let his hand wander, feeling the muscles beneath Steve’s formal attire. Given how soft the fabric is, he’s sure he would be able to feel Steve’s six-pack even through clothes, and it’s not a risk he wants to take tonight.

They might be undercover, but inappropriate touches remain as such, no matter the circumstances.

Nevertheless, Tony’s hand is still on Steve’s hip and he’s at his third drink, and they just _kissed_ , so he’s dazed enough to move his fingers just so, feeling as much of Steve’s body without actually moving his hand.

He’s only human.

At that, Steve’s breath catches in his throat. Tony tries to stop the umpteenth shiver at the thought of making Steve Rogers lose some of his cool while working.

“No need to apologize,” Tony whispers back. He makes no effort to move, and neither does Steve. “We have to practice.” He’s proud of how little innuendo he manages to slip through the sentence. Maybe he’s really become mature.

“Right,” Steve replies.

They stay still for another couple of seconds, torn between the need to lean in again – Tony’s – and, Tony supposes, the desire to keep décor – Steve’s. It’s nice, being this close to Steve, sharing that weird but pleasant tension that has nothing to do with imminent threats.

Tony is almost leaning in again, screw décor and all, when Steve tenses up. Tony barely has time to tense up as well, trying to understand what he did wrong, when Steve glances to Tony’s back and he breaks in his fake camera smile.

“Well, if it isn’t Captain America and Tony Stark,” comes a phony, sugared voice from behind Tony.

Immortus.

They each take a step back – and Tony has to stop focusing on how much he misses Steve’s heat already and start focusing on whether Coulson might have any kind of problem getting this – and Tony turns towards the host.

“Immortus, we meet at last.” Tony’s camera persona is up in full force, a fake smile plastered on his face as he shakes hands with the man in front of him.

“Indeed we do, Stark,” Immortus replies, empty smile not wavering as he shakes hands with Steve. “I must say, though, I’d resigned myself to never properly meeting you. We hardly belong in the same social circles anymore.” His eyes shift to Steve while he talks, eyeing him up like he’s a particular annoyance he has to put up with.

Tony immediately doesn’t like that look.

Neither does Steve, if the way he tenses is anything to go by. “You would be surprised by the circles we _do_ frequent,” Steve says, his practiced smile never leaving his face. After saying so, Steve slides his free hand around Tony’s waist again, tugging him that much closer.

Tony is impressed by his boldness. He has to give it to him, Steve’s doing a bang-up job.

“I bet I would,” Immortus replies, his face hardening a little under the public display of affection. Tony internally jumps in satisfaction. It seems like their plan might work just fine, after all.

Since they don’t want to part on the wrong foot after just that brief introduction, though, Tony smiles at Immortus. “I am sure we can find common interests, gentlemen,” he says, mollifying. “We are on the guest list after all, aren’t we.” Tony smiles again and doesn’t mention they had to cash in a favor from one of his ‘friends’ from the old days, to get through the main door as official guests.

Immortus doesn’t need to know.

“You are,” the man smiles again, this time a little more genuine. “I was surprised to see you, both of you—” he adds, looking back at Steve for a moment, “since we never officially met. But it’s good to have such dignified guests in one of my parties.”

“The pleasure is ours,” Steve says. Tony can figure out his strategy without even having to ask – Steve must have noticed Immortus isn’t very fond of him, perhaps for everything Captain America represents, and he’s determined to make himself more likeable to the man.

It’d be a good strategy, were Immortus less of a dickbag.

Unfortunately, Tony knows these types of people. They want to thrive in their harem of equal-shitty-but-less-powerful men, they want to soak up attention and bask in compliments, but only in the sleazy manners that they’re used to.

Eagerness and openness? They are not very fond of those. They’re too pure of values to mean anything for them.

Tony knows this, but Steve doesn’t.

Tony should’ve been more thorough while preparing Steve for this – but alas, too little too late.

Immortus’ face twists up in displeasure at Steve’s words, his eyes zooming in to Steve’s hand still on Tony’s side, before looking back up. His eyes are cold, even though he doesn’t lose the grating smile. “I’m afraid my other guests are wondering where I have gone,” he says. “I’m sure we will talk again soon.”

Tony barely has time to nod in response before Immortus turns and walks away.

The moment between them is broken, the slight tension Immortus left behind the only thing lingering around them. Tony slides his hand off Steve’s hip and takes a step back. He allows himself to mourn the loss of Steve’s hand on him for just for a moment, before sighing.

Tony makes sure they’re not within earshot, before saying, “Well, ain’t he a piece of cake.”

“I don’t understand what just happened,” Steve says, frowning.

“Of course you don’t,” Tony says, morosely. He brings his drink back to his lips and makes a face at the slightly warmed up state of his Martini. “I should’ve known this was going to be a problem,” he mutters.

The thing is, it has been ages since he’s participated in one of these events, and he didn’t attend many even before Afghanistan – he was more interested in science fairs and tech events, rather than shady army conventions and black-market social circles. He didn’t have a lot of experience with this to begin with. And it’s been so long, he’s kind of forgotten what the social customs are.

“What is going to be a problem?” Steve asks, worry making its way to his tone.

Tony finishes the drink with a face, before chasing another waiter to get another drink. When he makes his way back to Steve, he eyes up the drink in Tony’s hand and his face twists into his best Disapproving Glare. “Tony…” he begins.

“I’m not going to drink this,” Tony cuts him off. “It’s just for having something to do with my hand. Besides, it takes a lot more than a couple of drinks to get me drunk.”

Steve frowns, but nods. He loses the scowl though, so Tony relaxes just a fraction.

“So?” Steve urges him, and Tony sighs.

He takes a sip of his drink – pointedly ignoring Steve’s incredulous expression – before talking. “It’s a habit!” He protests. “I’ll hold onto this one, another one _tops_ for the rest of our stay, promise.” He waits until Steve stops glaring, then talks. “Anyway. You know the thing you do when you’re yourself,” Tony begins, and Steve frowns again. Tony is really glad he is a super soldier, otherwise he would already be sporting some impressive wrinkles on his forehead. “ _And_ you’re all nice and earnest to make people like you?”

“I don’t do that, I don’t ‘make people like me’,” Steve protests. His brow is furrowed adorably and Tony has to physically hold back from leaning in and kissing the center of his forehead.

Perhaps Steve’s right, after all, and he should stop drinking for the night.

“I know you don’t, I know that’s just you, but— that’s what it looks like from the outside. People like Immortus, well. They don’t like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re more used to the fake, lackey kind of compliments,” Tony grimaces. “Like, you know, using the right lingo, hinting you approve of their under-the-rug operations in a subtle way; basically ass-kissing, only sycophantic.”

“Why would anyone want that?” Steve quirks a brow, and it’s obvious he’s holding back from wrinkling his nose in disgust. Tony agrees wholeheartedly.

“Why is the universe expanding? Why is the sky blue?” Tony asks rhetorically. “It’s just black-market business code. It’s a sign that shows you belong.” Tony sighs. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been more thorough in explaining you how these things went.”

Now if everything is going south, it’s no one’s fault but Tony’s.

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Steve says, kindly. “It’s not like you are or were an expert in this kind of stuff, despite what some people might think. Besides,” and he smirks, “you don’t have to be perfect all the time, you know.”

“Well, now I know for sure you’re wrong,” Tony says, faux scoffing. He does feel a little relieved, though.

Steve just smiles at that. Sometimes, Tony wants to punch him in his perfect teeth. With his mouth. He wants to punch his mouth with _his own_ mouth.

Then he recoils, because tonight, he _can_. He _has_.

He’s never going to stop thinking about it, is he? That little brush of lips will be forever etched into his memory, branded into his skull for good. If someone were to open his brain one day, they would find there, for all to see, the words ‘I kissed Steve Rogers.’

“Tony?”

Tony startles back to himself. He looks at Steve and does _not_ blush, realizing Steve is expecting an answer to a question Tony didn’t hear. “Sorry, what was the question?”

Steve looks at him funny. “I asked, do you think my attitude might have compromised the mission?” He finishes the question in a whisper.

Tony thinks about it. They certainly can’t walk out now, in the middle of the party. They can’t risk losing the only occasion they have in what is probably going to be a long time. The body count is high enough already, they certainly don’t need more to add to that number. Besides, both the Avengers and the police are waiting just around the block. They’re all relying on Tony and Steve.

“Not necessarily,” Tony says, slowly. The plan they had before is being redefined in his head, adjusting interactions and testing out details.

It takes Tony all but a handful of seconds, and when he’s satisfied, he grins at Steve.

Steve squares his shoulders. He already figured Tony still has a way of making this work, Tony guesses. He isn’t wrong.

“Okay, I’ve got it. We’ll need just a couple of modifications to the original plan, nothing major.” Tony’s heartbeat accelerates in his chest, knowing what is going to happen. “First, you’re not allowed to talk to Immortus again,” he says lightly. “You can still schmooze, but try to avoid him.”

Steve nods, attentive. Tony twists his mouth a little. “And none of that good soldier act.” Steve immediately complies, taking a sip of his iced tea, and Tony smiles. “That’s more like it. Okay.” He takes a breath, then goes on. “Immortus is suspicious now. We lost the element of surprise, if you will. But that doesn’t mean we can’t still rile him up real good.”

Steve’s catching up. “We just have to up the pace.”

“Exactly.” Tony nods. “We have to be quicker, blunter. Not exaggerating, but it’s not a marathon anymore.”

“It’s a 400-metre dash,” Steve concludes.

Tony nods, ignoring the way his body thrums with anticipation.

Steve nods once, a dark glint passing through his eyes. “Then…” he says, coming closer and closer to Tony.

Tony can’t fully brace himself, before Steve cups his free hand around Tony’s cheeks and kisses him.

From the outside, they are just a couple showing some PDA. They’re exactly what the mission requires: professional in their gestures, efficient in their reiteration. They are going to get the job done. They’re perfect.

But Tony doesn’t think about the kissing sounds the Avengers must be hearing through their mics. He doesn’t think about Immortus watching, or any of the guests either, for that matter. Tony doesn’t think at all.

Tony’s mind is worryingly blank as he steps into Steve’s personal space and responds to the kiss with far more enthusiasm than necessary. He brings his free hand around Steve’s neck, trying to get as close to Steve as physically possible.

Steve’s lips are as soft as before. Tony keeps brushing them with his own, marveling at how easily they slide together, Steve’s lips slightly wet from his tea.

Being this close to Steve boldens Tony enough to part his lips and brush his tongue on Steve’s lower lip.

The motion makes Steve utter a noise that sounds suspiciously like a strangled moan. It goes straight to Tony’s brain, like a wave of shock coursing through his body. Steve’s mouth opens under Tony’s tongue, and just like that, the dam breaks.

The next thing Tony knows is they’re kissing like their lives depend on it. There are tongues and tilting heads, and it’s infinitely hotter than the little peck from before. It has intent, it reeks of want, and Tony doesn’t even have time to worry about how Steve will interpret this, because Steve is kissing him back with the same amount of passion.

Tony doesn’t know when Steve became such a good kisser, but he’s thanking and sending his blessing to whatever the reason.

The drink in Tony’s hand is the only thing that stops him from grabbing Steve by the hair and grinding into him, feeling his body as close to Steve’s as possible without crossing to public indecency. If it was up to Tony, he would take Steve to the nearest bathroom and fall to his knees in the space of a heartbeat.

Tony wants him so much, this kiss is only throwing fuel on his impossible crush.

When they break apart, Tony opens his eyes to find Steve’s staring right into him. His pupils are blown wide and he’s panting a little. Tony can feel his breath on his own mouth, and he struggles to get his own breathing back to normal.

“Tony,” Steve rasps, and Tony’s breath hitches.

He wants to hear Steve’s voice saying his name like that all the time. He wants to make Steve lose his cool; get all flushed and glassy-eyed. He wants to whisper filth in his ear and have him shiver and moan for him.

He wants to fall asleep next to Steve, and wake up to the sight of him in his bed.

Tony wants it all, so much it hurts.

“Fuck, Steve,” Tony whispers.

Steve takes his hand back to Tony’s head and crashes their lips together one more time, hard, and Tony all but moans into his mouth.

Steve’s tongue licks Tony’s lips, tasting every ounce of him, and a groan leaves Tony, completely unbidden. When they break apart, Tony’s gaze shifts down to Steve’s red, swollen lips, and has to recall all his self-control in order not to jump him again and sabotage the mission.

For a moment they stand there, looking into each other’s eyes and breathing heavily.

Tony’s never been happier to have taken part in a mission. He drinks in Steve’s flushed cheeks and his kiss-swollen lips again. He feels like walking on sunshine.

If that is all he’s ever gonna get from Steve, he’s glad he can at least imprint the sight of it into his memory. Another thing that will forever be burned into his brain.

Tony distantly wonders whether he’s going to be able to invent a technology that prints images directly from one’s brain. He feels like he needs to have albums over albums of Steve’s thoroughly kissed face. He’ll give it proper thoughts later on.

For now, Tony is still trying to catch his breath, when he sees Steve trying to get himself together and open his mouth.

Bold of him to attempt talking so soon.

When Steve speaks, it burns the last brain cells left in Tony’s brain. “May I have this dance?” Steve asks.

Tony’s heart jumps in his throat like it’s never going to find peace again.

Improvisation. They’re always good at that. Have been since the very first time they fought the Chitauri together.

That’s all Tony tries to focus on. Improvisation. The mission.

A _dance_ with Steve Rogers.

That old man is going to be the death of him.

Steeling himself, Tony takes the glass from Steve’s hand, then makes his way to the nearest table, and places both their drinks on it.

Then he turns towards Steve, who’s come a few steps his way. Tony takes an unsteady breath, trying to ignore the tingling of his lips, then bows in front of Steve.

“It would be my pleasure,” he answers.

***

Predictably, Steve is an amazing dancer.

Luckily for Tony, his parents made him take dancing classes when he was little. They knew with the life Tony was going to have, there would come a time where he’d have to dance at events like this, and they were right.

He wonders where Steve has learned how to dance, and why. Maybe it was a way of passing time in the war. He’ll have to ask him.

Steve owns the Waltz like he’s a professional dancer. Maybe the serum helps with the coordination of the movements – he’d only have to know the steps, in order to replicate them perfectly. But that, in Tony’s opinion, would only lead to a mechanical, stilted dance— technically correct, but lacking finesse.

Steve is anything but mechanical.

He owns the posture like it’s second nature, arms and shoulders straight as the dance commends, and his steps have a certain elegance that could only be acquired through experience.

Tony wants to know. He regrets not knowing everything about Steve. Granted, he’s done his fair share of research about the guy, not only in his most recent years, but throughout his whole life. Howard had always been proud of knowing Captain America. Tony used to research things about him, way before the Internet became a commodity. He’s always wanted to know as much as possible about Captain America – and he’s managed to dig up a lot of things about him, throughout the years.

It’s Steve Rogers that he wants to learn all about, though.

Steve Rogers has been his friend for the better part of two years now. He’s a normal human being, with his values, virtues and flaws. Tony has learned a lot about Steve during these two years – how he prefers his coffee in the morning right after his morning run, how he likes to take out his frustration on the reinforced punching bags in the gym, how he’d rather stew in silence and misery than ask for help. It’s a whole other process, discovering little things about him; very different from what learning everything he could about Captain America has been.

Tony knew Steve could dance, theoretically. Watching, _feeling_ him dance, though— yeah, another matter entirely.

Tony holds his breath as the Waltz slows down to its ending notes, and they come down to their last steps.

It’s a flash thought, but irrationally, Tony hopes they could keep doing this. Dancing, being close to each other to the point of casual touches; _kissing,_ Tony’s mind supplies. God, he would give up his entire fortune to be able to kiss Steve whenever he wanted to.

It’s that thought that prompts him to inch closer to Steve and bring their mouths together.

Tony can’t help it. Like a moth to a flame, Steve is irresistible for him, and Tony finds himself holding Steve’s head and kissing him with intent, music forgotten in his ears, alongside with the crowd and the mission and his own name.

The only thing that exists is Steve, his hands on Tony’s body, his mouth parting under Tony’s tongue.

They manage to keep it innocent enough not to get stared at. It’s tamer than the kiss they shared right before their Waltz, on one hand, but on the other hand, there’s more desire.

Tony’s head is spinning at the fact that he can _enumerate_ his kisses with Steve – whereas, until just a few hours back, kissing Steve was a fantasy relegated into the deepest corners of his mind. It’s like breathing properly after having spent your entire life under water. Tony distantly wonders if that’s how Steve felt the first time he took a breath after the serum.

In another life, Tony might ask him that very question. Here and now, though, he shoves it into the corner of unasked, unanswered Steve-questions.

It’s the lack of oxygen that shifts Tony back to the here-and-now. He couldn’t say for how long they kissed. He just knows that his lips feel sort of numb, and that they’ve stopped dancing at some point.

Tony opens his eyes and finds Steve looking at him, his blue eyes staring right into him. He feels naked – like all his thoughts are bare for Steve to read. He doesn’t feel exposed, though. Steve still has one hand on Tony’s back and the other in Tony’s hold, he’s right in front of him with pink around his mouth and on his cheeks, and he’s holding his gaze as if he might like what he’s reading there.

Tony is adrift, yet he knows his center of gravity is right in front of him.

The sound of the orchestra starting to play again startles them both to their surroundings. Tony looks around, finding Immortus at the corner of his vision, and exhales with relief. The plan is still on – and it does seem that they’ve made progress, if the way Immortus is tensed up is anything to go by.

The music picks up and makes a glissando, effectively shifting from adagio to allegro. It quickly makes its way to a famous jazz theme, and it only takes one second for Tony to recognize which song is being played.

It’s “L-O-V-E”.

Tony almost laughs at the irony of it.

He watches Steve figure out which song it is as another blush colors his cheeks, but it only takes him half a second to recover and steel his face into determination.

As always, Tony can all but wholeheartedly agree with that expression.

They shift their stance in no time – and seriously, the fact that they both thought up the same type of dance without saying a word speaks volumes; both of their natural talent for improvisation, and of Steve’s dancing knowledge.

Tony is _so_ going to ask.

When the orchestra is ready for the first verse, Tony and Steve are ready to take the first step of what looks like is going to be a very romantic Foxtrot.

*

Tony notices the crowd has basically dissipated when they complete the first round of the dance floor with no one getting in the way.

That’s. Uh.

There’s always been people dancing tonight, even when he and Steve were dancing a proper Waltz. It’s rude to let the center of the room be empty for a long time – Tony knows shady social events are not excluded from this custom.

But right now, nobody is joining them on the dance floor for a Foxtrot. Tony can hardly blame them – it’s not a very common dance.

This is going to go either extremely well for their plan, or extremely badly.

Tony tries not to pay attention to the way their bodies press together whenever the dance imposes them to. Luckily, the Foxtrot is a demanding dance, and Tony doesn’t have much time to indulge in his thoughts as he tries not to fall or to step on Steve’s feet. It’s been years since he’s danced something like this; it’s a miracle his body still remembers the basic moves without waiting for his brain to give directions.

If it was for Tony’s brain, still hyper-fixed on _I’m dancing with Steve to the notes of L-O-V-E_ , they’d be fucked.

Thankfully, the dance is quick enough to spare Tony from a ‘ _Love was made for me and you_ ’-induced headache. It is also quick enough for Tony to be left panting when the song ends, though.

There are a few rounds of applause when the song finishes.

Tony tries to catch his breath as he realizes he made it through a damn Foxtrot with Steve, without ever rehearsing it beforehand. He feels a surge of pride at that. There couldn’t have been two better people for this job, honestly.

Tony knows the team is going to tease them until the day they die, but doesn’t care.

All he cares about is Steve in his arms.

He is _so_ screwed.

Tony wants to stay like this forever – but he also knows they have a plan to carry on. As much as Tony hopes dancing would be enough, he knows it’s not.

He’s about to tug Steve to the side, to take him away from the dance floor, when the orchestra starts playing again.

Tony is confused for a couple of seconds, as the only instrument playing is a piano. His mind races through the dances he knows – could it be a melody for a Rhumba? Maybe a Freestyle? – before he can stop it from wandering. It’s not like they’re still going to dance, anyway.

He’s just taken half a step back when the cellos join the piano, and Tony freezes on the spot. He knows that theme. He _knows_ —

He watches as realization dawns on Steve’s face as well, shock morphing his face as a fierce blush colors his cheeks. Tony would be amused by how much Steve’s blushing, were he sure he was faring any better.

He’s not.

His cheeks burn, along with his neck and chest. He feels feverish, like the room has suddenly become twenty degrees hotter.

They cannot _possibly_ dance El Tango de Roxanne.

_Did we hire this orchestra!?_ Tony wants to ask aloud. It’s like the orchestra is set on pushing them to their breakpoint.

They just _can’t_ do it.

Tony feels dazed at how quickly he went from thinking dancing is not going to help them all that much anymore, to feel like it could be just too much.

How is a Tango supposed to be appropriate for this kind of an event? No matter how much they want to lure Immortus out, dancing a Tango in the middle of a high-up social event is definitely not appropriate, surely?

Tony is about to shake his head at Steve, when he notices Steve’s gaze.

It’s heated. It’s determined.

Steve just set his mind on doing it, Tony can tell.

A shiver runs through his body. Tony’s eyebrows shoot up with incredulity, because he honestly _can’t think_ _it’s_ —

In response, Steve quirks up an eyebrow as if to say, _In for a penny…_

Steve might not know how to suck up to the ugly society, but he’s still the best strategist Tony knows. If he thinks this could help, then he’s probably right.

Besides, it’s not like Tony isn’t already vibrating off his skin at the very thought of it.

As the piano dies out, Tony’s heart starts hammering in his chest as he realizes he’s nodding.

He did just agree to dance a Tango – the passionate dance par excellence – with Steve.

Oh, _god_.

Before he knows, he finds himself in position, and he has little room left to think about it before the violins begin playing and they start moving like one, Steve leading, Tony following.

Unlike the previous dances, tango is based on passionate body-on-body contact.

Tony is going to _die_ from spontaneous combustion.

Tony fancies himself a hedonistic person; he likes to have nice, beautiful things. He’s spent a fairly high amount of money to get his suit tailored just for this occasion, and he’s treated Steve to the same tailor. This way, they’re somewhat matching outfits, without it being too obvious.

This was Tony’s reasoning for getting both of their tuxes done by his tailor, despite Steve’s protests. It was for purely aesthetic reasons.

What he didn’t foresee, though, is that such high-quality materials were going to be pressed together and feel incredibly soft, molding perfectly to their frame like a second skin, and leaving nothing to the imagination.

He can’t keep Steve’s gaze as they move at the rhythm of the violins. Tony’s hands caress Steve’s chest as he slides his leg up on Steve’s, slowly, as if he wants to be as close to Steve as possible.

It’s heaven and hell combined.

He desperately hopes Steve won’t notice how much meaning there is behind his every movement.

The music builds up and they follow the rhythm like it’s second nature. They step left and then right between _promenades_ , crisscross their legs in alternated hooks as if led solely by desire. It’s natural, easier than the other dances – it’s all instincts, it’s less performing basic steps, and more learned response after provocation.

It comes easy as breathing.

When Tony leans on Steve’s body and tenses his leg, Steve’s hand slides down from his chest to his leg, slowly, and Tony can _feel_ the possession through the touch like never before.

He stands corrected from what he thought earlier – Steve is not a professional dancer. Professional dance is supposed to show emotions without any personal involvement, every touch carefully measured.

Steve is caressing him like he’s showing his claim to the whole room.

Tony is delirious with greed.

They slow down to open legs after, the music shifting to a calmer pace, but the song isn’t over yet. Tony circles around Steve’s axis as he follows him with his gaze, heated and ready. Tony feels trapped in Steve’s eyes, like he cannot move, like he cannot breathe without him.

It’s probably the truth.

It’s the best sensation Tony has felt in a long while.

Steve is there for Tony to lean on, to follow, and it’s heady as hell.

They continue to move together in a trance, the music a mere ornament for their movements. Everything else lies forgotten as the music builds up once again.

Then, three things happen in quick succession.

Steve is making Tony spin on one leg, when he throws Tony off balance just barely, but enough for Tony to notice it.

Then he’s being tossed on one side, hard, and it’s just the adrenaline pumping through Tony’s veins that keeps him from landing wrong on his hip.

Almost simultaneously, Tony hears a gunshot.

***

In the end, the mission is a success.

Immortus got worked up enough to order a damn hit on them. In his own damn gala, or whatever the fuck that thing was.

Tony is not sure it was a simple networking event anymore. If the guy felt comfortable enough to shoot his own damn guests, then clearly something else was going on behind the scenes. Something SHIELD didn’t bother investigating, given the ‘low threat’ of Immortus. Something the police wasn’t aware of.

Something Tony did not notice, because he was too busy kissing Steve to pay attention to anything else.

_Jesus._

He fucked up, bad. He should have done his research properly. He should have been more attentive, should have noticed something was off.

Debrief is hell. He and Steve have to answer the most ridiculous questions. Tony thought the amount of teasing would be fun, but it’s the only thing Clint and Natasha seem focused on, and it’s not funny at all.

At some point, Tony snaps at them. “Does anyone care that Immortus ordered a fucking hit on two of his own guests because he clearly thought he could get away with it, or was my tongue down Steve’s throat the only thing worth noticing?”

Things sober up a little after this.

Tony can’t bear to look at Steve’s face. 

They managed to get the job done and arrest Immortus, but it nearly costed their lives. If Steve hadn’t noticed the sniper in the high gallery, they’d likely be dead.

If it wasn’t for Steve, Tony would be dead.

Steve didn’t let himself get distracted while Tony was wrapped up in his own agenda. There was a reason why Steve was their leader.

When the debrief ends, Tony gets up and leaves the room before anyone else manages to stand up. He doesn’t look at any of them, least of all Steve, and heads straight for the workshop.

He locks himself there and orders Jarvis not to let anyone enter or contact him, short of an Avenger or SI emergency. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone.

He doesn’t want to face Steve.

His first instinct is to find a bottle of liquor and drink himself into sleep. Luckily for him, he doesn’t have alcohol in the workshop, so he settles on focusing all his attention on research. He digs up everything about Immortus and his gatherings, collecting little information but new names, and then he digs up everything on those names too, and before he knows it, Jarvis is reminding him that he’s been awake for almost twenty-four hours.

Tony scoffs – that’s not even close to his record – but Jarvis’ words seem to remind Tony’s body of its existence, making his stomach rumble and his vision swim a little.

Great.

Tony sighs, disappointed at how little he managed to find that they didn’t already know. They either kept their dirty business off the internet, or there was nothing more to find. This option worried Tony. If shooting guests was something that didn’t raise a single eyebrow, then…

Ugh. He doesn’t know what to think.

He’s tempted to start researching everyone again, but another rumble of his stomach makes him decide to get something to eat, and then have some shut eye.

***

The kitchen is blessedly empty when he gets there.

Jarvis confirmed that everyone was away, but seeing it with his own eyes is a relief.

They didn’t part on the best of terms – Tony acted pretty childish; he is man enough to admit that. It’s just that… Last night was a lot.

He is familiar with PTSD, he’s never completely recovered from Afghanistan or the Chitauri; he just learned how to deal with them. Someone ordering a hit on him probably hit too close to home. Not to mention the fact that he spent the night playing the royal couple with Steve.

Tony blushes as he remembers the feeling of Steve’s lips against his, Steve’s mouth swollen with kisses, his strong hands keeping him close, or sliding down his body—

Tony shakes his head. Good god, he needs to snap out of it.

He realizes he’s been standing in the kitchen without doing anything, so he goes and opens the cupboard. The urge to make himself a strong, black coffee is almost irresistible, but he needs to sleep at least a couple of hours. He decides to go for a chocolate smoothie instead, opting to indulge his sweet tooth just this once.

He mechanically grabs the unsweetened cocoa powder, some ice, sugar and milk, and puts them all in the blender. The noise is almost soothing, lulling him into a trance for a couple of seconds, where his mind is blessedly empty.

After he’s finished and poured the smoothie into a glass, he takes a sip and sighs happily.

This is how sweet life should be.

“Can I have one too, please?” comes a small voice from Tony’s back.

Of course, life has a way to take back what it gives.

Tony wills his blush to die before he turns around, and is faced with Steve in his morning outfit. He is wearing sweatpants and a blue t-shirt that does nothing to hide his muscles, and his neck is slightly glistening with what Tony supposes is sweat.

He must be back from his morning run.

Tony Stark and his never-ending luck.

“Sure,” Tony grumbles, voice rough from disuse. He tries not to look at Steve as he takes the same ingredients and puts them in the blender. Before giving it to Steve, Tony takes the cinnamon powder and sprays some on top of his smoothie. He may not be fond of cinnamon, but Steve loves it.

“Watch out, it’s cold and high-calorie,” Tony half jokes, before handing it to Steve.

Steve’s fingers brush Tony’s as he passes him the smoothie, and Tony feels the hysterical urge to take a step forward and kiss Steve good morning.

Oh, _please_ no, come on.

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve says, his tone soft as if he’s trying not to wake someone. Like he doesn’t want to spook Tony.

Tony can’t hide the blush that overcomes him as he mutters, “Don’t mention it.” He grabs his own smoothie and takes another sip. _Heaven_.

Steve’s features are gentle as he takes a sip, and then his eyes widen.

_Yeah_ , Tony can relate to that.

“Oh my god, this is so good,” Steve rasps.

Tony tries not to think about how that same voice was calling his name just the previous night. He tries, but it’s really, really difficult not to.

In an attempt to distract himself from his own thoughts, Tony says, “My mom used to make them. They were my comfort food.” He brings the smoothie to his mouth, hoping it will stop him from blabbering about his childhood.

Steve’s expression softens further as he says, “I’m sure they were exactly what you needed.”

Tony nods. It feels weird, knowing that Steve is privy of this trivial little thing. It makes him feel open, like Steve might just peer inside him and it would be enough for him to discover his deepest secret.

Tony is not sure he hates the sensation. In fact…

“I was going to come find you,” Steve says, then takes a seat at the isle, right in front of Tony. “After I showered. I’d have brought you breakfast. It wasn’t going to be as delicious as these, though, so… This is for the best,” he finishes, gesturing at Tony as if to say ‘ _you, being here_.’

Tony shifts his gaze to his glass, as though he finds it very fascinating. The quiet atmosphere of the kitchen is almost deafening. It’s a sign of how tired Tony is – apparently, he can’t pull an all-nighter that easily anymore; not after an… emotionally challenging night like the previous one.

He can’t think of what to say.

His first reaction is to ask _why_ – why would Steve do that? But it’s not like he never brought Tony some food down in his lab – in fact, it was quite common he did that, especially if Tony was going through one of his inventing spirals and lost every cognition of time. Besides, it’s rude to ask the reason behind someone doing something nice for you, Tony’s fairly sure. Ninety-percent sure.

He could probably crack a joke – that’d be easy. But he just doesn’t feel like it, especially not after last night, after everything that happened at the gala, after the way he behaved in debrief.

He could thank Steve. That is probably the wisest thing to do, and Tony is nothing but a genius. But when he thinks of saying those words to Steve, the gratitude fills with much more meaning, and Tony is left reeling for a moment.

Steve’s always had a special consideration for him, even when everyone else didn’t bother caring. It was the little things— little gestures like bringing food to his lab, sitting there with a sketchpad in his hand just to keep Tony company, suggesting going to medical if he’d been hit even lightly. It was the way he always consulted Tony for his opinion, even when it wasn’t Tony’s field of expertise.

He saved his life last night.

He’s saved his life so many times in the field.

Tony has _so much_ to thank Steve for.

He decides to pick the most pressing reason, so he says, “Thank you for saving my life.”

At the same time, Steve says, “Tony, I’m sorry.”

They stare at each other for a couple of seconds, before Steve blushes. Tony is sure he isn’t faring any better.

Tony opens his mouth to speak, but before saying anything, he looks at Steve to make sure he isn’t going to talk at the same time. Steve smiles and motions him to go on, so Tony asks tentatively, “You’re sorry…?”

Steve’s cheeks color again – and that makes Tony’s heart lurch a little in his chest. Then Steve says, “Maybe I went too far,” with such a small voice that Tony is seriously tempted to reach out and caress his cheek.

The impulse is harder to fight than the urge to kiss him.

He realizes that stopping from casually touching Steve is going to be hell, right at the same time that he realizes what Steve just said.

_Maybe I went too far._

Like the problem is Steve.

“You didn’t,” Tony says. “If anyone went too far, it’s me.”

Steve lowers his gaze and shakes his head, like he thinks Tony is only saying that to make him feel better, but he knows better.

Tony isn’t ready to talk about last night – at all, but he can’t have Steve feeling guilty for something that existed only in his mind.

“No, I mean it, Steve,” Tony says, firmer. The change in his tone has Steve looking up with mild surprise. “Why would you even think that? It’s me who got too caught up with—everything else, and almost got us both killed.”

“That’s not your faul—” Steve interrupts him, but Tony is nothing but determined. “And it was me who lost my temper in debrief over nothing.”

“That’s not true,” Steve says, and this time he’s sitting straight and looking at Tony right in the eyes. “It wasn’t ‘nothing’, and you know it. _I_ know it,” he continues, more gently. “You had every right to be upset. You’ve had your fair share of people who wanted to kill you. Your reaction was reasonable.”

That’s the moment Tony realizes he might be in love with Steve.

It’s like a blow to the gut; it leaves him breathless.

Hardly anyone has ever been this kind to him. With Steve, Tony feels like he matters. Steve actually _cares_ for him, for Tony the frail, workaholic person, not the charming billionaire.

Tony would give up his fortune for him.

“Our job is to run towards people that want to kill us,” Tony mutters, because he can’t say _I love you_.

Steve smiles. “That doesn’t mean we lose the right to get affected by what happens.”

Tony smiles in turn. “When have you become so wise?” he asks without bite.

“Old age has its perks,” Steve jokes, and Tony laughs.

God, he wants to kiss him so badly it hurts.

Tony sighs as the laughter dies down. He finishes the smoothie and looks at Steve. He’s still on the stool in front of Tony, and when Tony looks up, Steve looks right back at him. He’s calmer than before, almost relaxed, and his good mood influences Tony’s, who hasn’t felt this calm since this whole ordeal started.

“Thank you, Steve,” Tony says. “I mean it. For everything.”

“It’s the truth,” Steve replies simply.

They look at each other for a couple of seconds more, then Tony – to his horror – yawns.

Steve snorts a laugh. “God, you’ve been awake all night, haven’t you? You need to get some sleep,” he says.

Tony can’t find it in himself to argue, so he just nods. “I was researching. Wanted to know whether shooting your own guests is fashionable these days. Didn’t manage to find anything interesting.”

Steve nods. “Yeah, that bothered me too. Fury believes Immortus never considered us guests; just snoopers. I think Immortus wasn’t quite as ‘low threat’ as we believed, but it’s over now. He’s accused of attempted second-degree murder. Don’t worry about it now,” he finishes.

Tony nods. “Okay.” He feels some of his tension seeping out of him and stands up. “Where are the others anyway?” he changes topic as he takes his glass to the sink.

“Nat and Clint are on a mission for SHIELD, they should be back in a couple of days. And Bruce is still with Thor in London. Leave it, I can do it,” he adds, as Tony opens the tap to rinse his glass.

Tony nods. His eyes are getting heavier with each blink, anyway.

“Are you going to be around for lunch?” he asks Steve.

Steve nods. “I’ll have Jarvis wake you when it’s ready.”

Tony nods, satisfied. “Okay. See you in a few hours.”

As he passes next to Steve to leave for the bedroom, he feels the blinding urge to reach out and cup Steve’s face to kiss him goodbye.

It takes Tony every ounce of willpower not to give in.

He’s almost in the dining room, when Steve calls, “Oh, and Tony?”

Tony stops and turns around to face Steve leaning on the doorway. “Yes?”

“Don’t ever thank me for saving your life,” Steve says. “I will _always_ save your life,” he repeats, quietly.

Tony’s heart is hammering so loud he’s afraid Steve will be able to hear it and realize everything.

That’s another thing that will be imprinted in his mind for as long as he lives. Only this time, he’s glad that he can ask Jarvis to replay the footage as many times as he wants.

“The sentiment is mutual, Steve,” Tony replies just as quietly. Then he smiles a little and says, “I would always save your life, too. Always.”

_I fucking love you_.

Steve’s only answer is to smile.

***

When Tony wakes up, he feels mildly rested. He’s still sluggish around the edges, but it’s not as bad as he’d expected. He turns around in bed, and notices that the sunlight coming from the windows seems sort of wrong. It has orange-colored stripes, and the shadows are longer.

“Jarvis, what time is it?” Tony asks as he rolls out of bed.

“5.45pm, Sir,” Jarvis replies.

Tony frowns. That’s way past lunchtime. “Why didn’t you wake me up for lunch?” Steve must have decided to eat by himself after all.

Before that thought can spiral any further, though, Jarvis says, “Captain Rogers asked me to let you rest, Sir. He asked to be informed as soon as you woke up, so he could prepare something to eat. I reckon you have around half an hour before your meal is ready.”

Tony’s heart starts hammering in his chest again. It shouldn’t come as a surprise anymore, but Tony still manages to be caught off-guard by the kindness Steve keeps showing him. He supposes that will never change.

“Thanks, J.”

He sits on his bed for a couple of minutes to try and regain his cool, but he soon finds that the more he lingers, the more his mind plays tricks on him.

Tony is back to the previous night. He’s back in Steve’s arms. They’re dancing again, Steve holds him close. They’re kissing, Tony can feel Steve’s body against his like they never parted.

Tony is still the happiest he’s ever been.

A pang of longing rushes through his body, leaving him breathless. His chest aches. He needs to hold Steve again. He needs to be able to kiss him whenever he feels like. It’s like his body became addicted to Steve’s proximity in the span of one night, and is now demanding its fix. The thought that he isn’t allowed to do all that makes him feel dull inside.

It was just a mission like any other. Tony wasn’t supposed to catch _feelings_. He was perfectly happy to crush over Steve in the privacy of his mind, with no label on his sentiments; with no physical evidence of what he was missing out.

Now those memories are all Tony can think about.

He also knows that that’s the extent of how far it can go: his own mind. Those memories are going to be played and replay in his head. He’ll just have to ignore the extra feelings that go arm in arm with them.

He owes Steve to be professional, at the very least.

With that resolution in mind, Tony gets up and goes to the bathroom to take a shower. The warm water soothes him and brushes away the remnant of his sleep, leaving him more awake and slightly less gloomy.

Steve hasn’t gone anywhere, after all. Steve’s cooking for Tony a couple of floors away, after he let Tony rest as much as he needed. They’re going to have an early dinner together. Then they’re probably going to watch a movie, or Tony is going to go work some more in his lab and Steve is going to follow him, claim the sofa for himself, and start sketching there.

Things will go on like nothing has changed.

They are going to be okay.

With this calming mantra in his head, Tony slips on some comfortable clothes, and then heads for the elevator.

When he reaches the main floor, the smell of roast beef makes his stomach rumble.

_Honey, I’m home_. The most common line of every rom-com crosses Tony’s mind and almost makes him giggle. Were it any other day, he’d greet Steve that way – he’s never shied away from flirting, especially with Steve. He can behave for today, though.

When he reaches the kitchen, he sees Steve setting the plates on a nicely decorated table. There’s a lot of snacks here and there, a bottle of wine and some flowers right in the middle of the table.

Tony’s heart lurches in his throat.

Steve didn’t intend for the whole setting to be romantic, surely, Tony chastises himself. No need to indulge in these ridiculous thoughts.

When Steve looks up at him, he beams his most beautiful, happy smile and says, “Ah, Tony, just in time. I prepared a little something. Did you sleep well?”

It’s like Steve’s turned on his kindliness to the extreme.

If Tony wasn’t in love before, he would be now.

Something must show on his face, because Steve’s perfect features morph to slight confusion. “Tony?”

Tony shakes his head and smiles. “Yeah, I did.” He looks at Steve and wonders how nice it would be to just go over and kiss him on the lips. He stifles a sigh as he steps closer. “Thank you for letting me sleep, by the way. You shouldn’t have gone through all this trouble though,” Tony says. “Did you _cook_ all this?”

“No trouble at all, I love cooking,” Steve says, then takes a hand to the back of his neck as his smile turns sheepish. “And yeah, I did. I figured you’d be hungry by now.”

“I am. But still,” Tony shakes his head again. He can’t keep his lips from curling up, no matter how hard he tries— so he stops trying altogether, smiling at Steve so much his cheeks start to hurt. “Thank you, Steve. Really.”

_You’re everything to me_.

“You really don’t have to thank me,” Steve says. He’s blushing now, and Tony is absolutely smitten.

“If it makes your cheeks go red like that, I really do,” Tony says. He realizes what he’s said the second the words leave his mouth.

God, he just can’t help himself, can he?

Tony bites his lips as he looks up at Steve, only to find Steve staring at him intently. He’s about to apologize when Steve takes a few steps towards him – and then he’s in Tony’s space, closer than he’s been since last night, and Tony’s heart goes absolutely haywire. Steve stares right in his eyes, and Tony finds he cannot look away from the deep baby blues in front of him.

Just like his personality, Steve’s gaze is magnetic, pinning him in place and stealing his breath away from him. All Tony wants to do is take the last step and kiss him.

So he does.

It’s a leap of faith – but once you jump, you cannot go back.

Thus, Tony cups Steve’s face and kisses him, giving in to everything he’s been dreaming about of doing for the better part of the day. Steve’s mouth immediately parts under Tony’s, allowing their lips to slide together and taste each other.

There’s a soft urgency in the back of the kiss, but Tony doesn’t mind; all he cares about is that he’s finally kissing Steve, and Steve is kissing him back, and the universe is rearranging around its axis once again, adjusting its tilt only for Steve and Tony to become each other’s center of gravity.

Then Steve’s hands tangle through Tony’s hair— and just like that, a soft moan escapes Tony’s throat.

It immediately shifts the kiss from lips on lips to tongue and desire. Tony’s hands roam across Steve’s back, feeling the muscles flex under his fingers as Steve arches in the kiss and grabs Tony’s waist to bring them closer.

Being the focus of Steve’s desire is heady and every bit as thrilling as the night before, if not more. Arousal courses through Tony’s body and he grows hard in his pants, but he ignores it to keep kissing Steve. He has all he wants in his arms already; everything else is trivial.

They kiss for what feels like hours, until Tony’s stomach rumbles and Steve giggles on Tony’s lips.

Tony chases Steve’s mouth for a last, lingering kiss, before they properly break apart.

Tony is reluctant to open his eyes; all he wants to do is bask in the afterglow of one of the best kisses of his life. If the way Steve kissed him back is anything to go by, though, he might actually like what he’d find.

When Steve brushes Tony’s cheek with his hand, Tony opens his eyes with the tiniest sliver of hope.

He finds Steve looking at him with wonder in his eyes.

He’s so beautiful; Tony leans in and steals another brush of lips.

“Tony,” Steve whispers on his mouth. He’s still stroking Tony’s cheek— Tony leans into the touch and closes his eyes for a moment, happy.

He’s blissfully content.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Tony whispers, eyes trained on Steve’s face to pick up every shift of expression.

Steve looks absolutely delighted. “Long before last night,” he supplies. Tony nods, before realizing Steve is talking about himself. “Me too.”

Tony’s breath hitches. “Really?” He can’t help but ask, amazed.

Steve smirks. “Sometimes you’re awfully slow, for being a genius,” he says. He laughs a little at Tony’s indignant face – and right before Tony can protest, he pecks him on the lips. “Yes, really. I don’t remember the last time I looked at you and didn’t feel the urge to kiss you or hold you in my arms.” Tony’s heart threatens to beat right out of his chest as Steve strokes a thumb on his chin, inching up to brush his mouth. Tony parts his lips involuntarily, and Steve’s eyes go dark, zeroing in on his mouth in the fraction of a second. He brushes Tony’s lower lip for a moment, before consciously stopping and looking back up. “After last night, after knowing what being with you – albeit just for show – feels like, I just knew I couldn’t go back. I wanted everything you’d want to give me. Hence, the whole—” He gestures at the table.

Hence, the dinner and flowers. So it _was_ meant to be romantic, after all.

It was a _date_.

“You’re an absolute menace, Steve Rogers.” Tony says with mirth. Then he adds, “You’re lucky I feel the same way.”

Steve beams and Tony kisses him again, because he’s bursting with happiness, because he _can_ , because Steve’s right there and he just bared his heart to Tony. Tony kisses him because they’re going to be better than okay, after all.

Tony kisses him because he’s in love with him. 

He’s sure dinner is going to be delicious, even if cold. He doesn’t care one bit. He’s ecstatic Steve feels the same way, and cannot wait to date the hell out of Steve.

In the grand scheme of things, what is a little cold dinner, especially when cooked with love?

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh, this was so much fun to write!
> 
> If you want to have some visual references, [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cN1vniebhzM) is a Waltz, [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DtSwer4C-EQ) is what a Foxtrot looks like, [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FVGTLEK69I4) is a Foxtrot on the notes of L-O-V-E, [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qvnei5JKGVs) is an example of Tango, and [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l6y4pKNcIHI) is a choreography of Roxanne’s tango.
> 
> Thank you for reading <3 I hope you guys liked it!


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